


altissia, under construction

by dreamtowns



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe – Supernatural Elements, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Noctis Lucis Caelum, BAMF Prompto Argentum, Different Ages than Canon, Families of Choice, Fluff, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Intentionally Bad Spelling & Grammar, M/M, Mild Angst, Mild Language, Protective Cor Leonis, Snuggling & Cuddling, Worldbuilding, domestic life, tropes galore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-27 18:29:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20764955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamtowns/pseuds/dreamtowns
Summary: Noctis crinkles his nose, gently pushing Prompto’s face away from his. “Gods, you really do smell. Go take a bath. Or two.”Prompto gives him a fond look and presses their cheeks together. Noctis, like he always does, despite his verbal annoyance at the odor, relaxes into Prompto’s embrace. “You really know how to make a man feel loved, huh?”Noctis echoes Prompto’s early tone. “Obviously.”“I’m going to tickle you again.”“I’ll turn you into afrog, don’t you fucking dare.”Or: Noctis owns a quiet apothecary and garden in Altissia with his partner (and familiar), Prompto, but the arrival of Cor Leonis, the legendary Immortal Dragon, shatters his flimsy illusion of peace.





	altissia, under construction

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Final Fantasy XV. All rights reserved to its developers: Square Enix. All that is mine is the plot of this story in particular and any original characters introduced. No copyright infringement intended. No money is being made from this work. This is purely for entertainment purposes.
> 
> Me, writing anything w FFXV: Prompto has to call Noctis baby. It’s law.

Prompto clucks his tongue for the third time that morning, perched on the windowsill in his cat form, and looks far too tense than normal. Noctis stares at him by the cash register, but he’s a bit more preoccupied with bagging a dozen blood-sweetening potions for one of his fellow vampire regulars. Prompto clucks his tongue again.

“Here you go,” Noctis says as he hands the little blue box over. It’s detailed in white, and the emblem for his shop is painted on the middle. “Let me know if this batch was too sweet or not.”

“I will,” she says, and then, after flashing a fanged grin at Noctis and Prompto, disappears into the steadily thickening crowd outside.

Noctis settles back into his quiet routine of wiping down his various counters and fixing some of his displays; going through his aisles—which aren’t really aisles, in the traditional sense; more like circle tables in a smattering pattern that loosely resembles rows—to see if there’s anything that needs to be restocked or looked over, and then, when Prompto clucks his tongue a fifth time, Noctis wanders to his direction.

“Okay, I’ll bite,” he says. “What’s wrong?”

Noctis lightly scratches Prompto under his chin, fingers reaching all of his sweet spots, and Noctis’s regaled by Prompto’s calming purr.

“That man is back,” Prompto comments.

Noctis quirks an eyebrow, and then his gaze drifts to where his familiar is looking, and—right across the street from his storefront, sitting on a platform where tables have umbrellas for pedestrians to seek refuge from the summer sun, is a man Noctis has seen drifting by his store various times in the past week.

He hums. “I don’t think he’s doing anything suspicious.”

“Still weird,” comments Prompto, but his familiar is the type to always look at people in suspicion when it comes to Noctis.

“He’s probably just curious about the place,” Noctis says instead, patting Prompto on the head, before going back over to water some of his decorative plants set up against the wall. “I don’t think it’s anything concerning, Prom.”

“I dunno.” Prompto sniffs the glass. “Something’s just . . . off.”

“Uh huh.”

After he tends to his plants, the store phone rings. Noctis answers and it’s the sweet lady who lives near the marketplace. She’s wanting to place another order for some potions that help mask the taste of vegetables in her dishes as her grandchildren are quite insistent that they dislike vegetables alongside some other luck-potions for her niece—she’s going back to school, the dear, and I want her to do well, you see?

Noctis chats with her and jots down her order when the bell above his door jingles. The man across the street enters quietly, and Prompto hops down from the windowsill to trail after him. Noctis rolls his eyes a little and goes back to talking with his regular. After a few more minutes and adjustments to the order, he hangs up the phone with a, “Your order will be complete within five business days, and we’ll give you a call when it’s ready for pick up.”

Once he inputs the order into his computer, he takes note of the man calmly observing his store; moving through the aisles and picking up the bottled potions that interest him before putting it down and moving onto the next thing. Prompto remains at the man’s heels, but Noctis isn’t getting anything other than curiosity from his familiar, so he isn’t too worried.

A minute of watching, Noctis smiles and makes his way to the man. “Welcome to Nightshade. Is there anything I can help you with, sir?”

The man blinks at him for a moment; he looks a little bewildered and, oddly enough, there’s something like grief in his expression, but Noctis doesn’t hover over it too much. “Ah . . . yes, actually,” he says after a minute. “Do you also sell enchantments here?”

Noctis perks up. “We do, actually. What are you looking for—ones with protection spells, unbreakable charms . . .?”

“I’m looking for someone,” the man explains quietly. _Ah_, Noctis thinks. _That explains the grief, then. _ “And I was told that your shop—well, you—would be able to help.”

“Of course,” Noctis replies, and then looks down at Prompto. “Honey, mind getting the catalogue?”

Prompto meows his agreement, and then scampers off to the back of the store. The man watches him with a wide-eyed blink, and Noctis smothers his laugh with a cleared throat. It was always amusing for people to think Prompto to be a regular cat and then find out he wasn’t.

“Before we begin,” Noctis starts, “can I get your name?”

“Cor,” the man says after a pause. “Cor Leonis. And you?”

Noctis smiles and shakes Cor’s hand in a firm grip. “Noctis. It’ll be a pleasure working with you. Now, you’re looking for someone?” Noctis waits for Cor’s nod, and then continues. “Do you have anything of theirs? Like . . . an old clothing they used to wear, perhaps?”

“Would . . .,” Cor starts and then pauses. After a swallow, he says, much quieter than before, “Would their baby clothes work?”

Noctis gives him a curious look. He couldn’t sense anything immoral from the other man, so he says, “It might be difficult, depending on how long it’s been since they’ve worn those things, but it’s nothing I haven’t worked with before.”

Noctis once had to work with the smallest strand of hair for a locator spell, so, really, someone’s baby clothes would be a walk in the park compared to the nightmare that caused.

The conversation halts when Prompto jogs into view, a thin and glossy catalogue in his mouth. Noctis leans down and takes it from him and hands it over to Cor.

“You can flip through that,” he says. “There is a disclaimer, though—I can’t do any enchantments for long distance . . . they tend to shatter if I try . . . and I also refuse to do enchantment work for anything that will harm others, especially children. If you’ve a problem with those conditions, I’m afraid we can’t be working partners for this.”

Cor stares at him, and Noctis won’t lie, he’s a little bit intimidated by the blank, unreadable look on Cor’s face, but Prompto’s brushing against his ankle. Noctis is not alone. Prompto would never leave him to face the world by himself. He exhales and holds Cor’s gaze.

The edges of the mans’ lips quirk. “I’m not planning on using this for anything nefarious, don’t worry.”

Noctis tilts his head. In an even, soft tone, he says, “And if I ask for your word about that?”

He’s never really had to invoke promises and oaths from his previous customers—well, except for one, but that man was quite suspicious, so he doesn’t count—but that doesn’t mean he won’t do it if he doesn’t feel safe or comfortable. Of course, Prompto wouldn’t let anything happen to him, but after the chaos that was his past, Noctis was going to take as little chances as possible.

“Then, I will give it,” Cor says. His gaze is still unreadable, but there’s a hint of something—of pride—swimming in the depths of his stare. Noctis feels oddly pleased at that, like he’d passed a test he hadn’t prepared for.

Appeased, Noctis’s smile reappears. “Wonderful—if you’ll come to the front, we can set up a consultation appointment.”

He turns on his heels and gives Cor no other option but to follow. The bell above the door whistles, and a steady thrum of customers shuffle inside. As Noctis operates the computer, he sends them bright smiles that sort of make his cheeks hurt and feels the tell-tale shimmer of Prompto shifting into his human form.

“Welcome to Nightshade,” Prompto greets with all the exuberance Noctis can never quite manage. “If you have any questions or need help, please don’t be afraid to talk to me or the owner.”

Noctis watches Prompto interact with their customers, a mix of old and new, fondly, and then, feeling Cor’s amusement settle in the crook of his elbow, blinks back to his task. “Okay, so . . . here are the dates and times I have available . . .”

It takes a few minutes, but they set up an appointment that works for the both of them—next Thursday, at noon—and Noctis gathers other information from Cor, like his phone number and where he’s staying while in Altissia. At that, Cor looks as curious as one can when they mask majority of their emotions. There’s a gleam in his eyes, an eyebrow quirked.

“There are a lot of unsavory people in Altissia,” Noctis explains as best as he could while remaining utterly vague. He had no reason to pour his entire life story out on a stranger he’d just met. “So, it’s just a safety measure. Ah, speaking of . . .”—Noctis ducks behind the counter and pulls out a small, thin wooden box. He opens it to reveal an arranged display of rings and bracelets layered in protective charms and spells. “As you’re going to be signing a contract with me, it’s practice for Nightshade to give you a ring or a bracelet with protection charms and spells on it.”

Cor blinks, slow but nonjudgmental. “You sure you’re just running an apothecary here, kid?”

Noctis smiles, sharp and a little toothy but not unkind. The edges of Cor’s lips quirk upward in a manner that makes Noctis know he’s amused, and he accepts a simple black and silver bracelet; the bracelet charm is a serpentine dragon whose eyes glow a deep, but warm, brown.

“Ah, good choice,” Noctis says as he then hands over the accompanying notecard that details what charms and spells have been placed on the bracelet, most of them layered and focused through the dragon charm. Cor accepts both the bracelet and the card, and Noctis puts the box away. “We can discuss payment options when we sit down for our appointment, and I get a better understanding of what you need. That okay?”

“That’s alright,” says Cor.

Near where Noctis likes to have his healing potions and elixirs, a customer—a tourist, he notes, given she’s decked out in Moogle Festival merch and a fanny pack—picks up a bottled vial (from the display _Variants of Bruise Salves – 40% off until April 25th!_) only for it to slip through her blue-manicured fingers. It shatters on the floor, and Noctis flinches at the sound.

His throat constricts, and he tries to breathe around the sudden knot in his throat, but he reaches for the broom, nonetheless. But Prompto sweeps by easily, pausing to rest a settling hand on the small of Noctis’s back, before making his way to the flustered group of customers with an easy grin on his face and a, “Ah, don’t worry, don’t worry! Accidents happen like this all the time at Nightshade.”

“I’m so, so, so sorry,” the woman—young teen, really, she doesn’t look older than thirteen; _what _did she need bruise salves for? —squeaks out, but Prompto’s a pro at easing her worries. “I-I can, like, pay for it, um . . ..”

“Really, it’s alright!”

Noctis breathes a little, sagging slightly against the counter, and counts his breaths in beat with the grandfather clock above his head. It ticks loudly, almost, as if it’s right by his ear, and Noctis finds himself settled and grounded within a few minutes. Prompto’s tying up a plastic bag with the broken shards of the vial and has even put down a bright orange sign that states DROPPED POTION – WALK CAREFULLY near the accident. The young tourist is still apologizing for her slippery fingers, almost to the point of tears.

He exhales deeply, shakily. Yeah, that’s a sight he can really relate to, unfortunately.

“Noctis?”

Startling, Noctis turns to see Cor’s lips pulled down to a frown. “Ah, I apologize. Did you want me to write down your appointment information?”

Cor stares at him for a moment. Noctis takes his silence as a yes and pens down the information on the silvery cards he utilizes for Nightshade before sliding it in Cor’s direction. With a smile, he adds, “If you’d like to, you can still look around Nightshade and see if there’s anything you’d like to purchase?”

Cor slides the notecard in his pocket and nods, slowly, but that unreadable expression doesn’t leave his face as he takes another slow lap around the store. Noctis busies himself with the line of customers before the cash register, ringing and bagging purchases, answering any questions or concerns they might have. His regulars don’t chat much, seeing how busy the store is at the moment, but promise to come by when it’s slower to catch up.

The young tourist approaches the front counter, and Noctis sends her a warm smile. She isn’t on the verge of tears anymore, thankfully, but she does have a basket full of healing potions. Noctis rings them up and bags them, despite the unease that curls in the pit of his stomach.

“I really am sorry,” she murmurs as she reaches for the box of potions.

“It’s alright,” Noctis soothes. “Like Prompto said before, these things happen all the time. Sometimes _I _drop them, and I’m the one who makes it.”

She snickers a little and then, realizing there are other people behind her, scuttles out of line. “Have a nice day!”

“You as well,” Noctis says before he smiles at the next customer. “Hello! Hope you had a good time at Nightshade. Will this be all?”

As the last of the customers dwindle out of the shop, Noctis cleans up the mess that the front counter has become. Prompto’s sweeping through the aisles and around the displays already, without Noctis even asking, so that’s one less thing for him to worry about. After the front counter looks presentable enough, Noctis folds all the receipts for the day and holds them together with a paper clip.

Prompto wipes down some of the display shelves, and Noctis looks to see that Cor had left. Humming a quiet tune under his breath, he goes back to organizing the day’s receipts and notes. His stomach grumbles quietly, the time inching closer to closing as the evening sun glows brightly in the sky. Prompto sweeps by again, briefly pausing to press and rub their cheeks together in a way that not-so-dissimilar to a cat rubbing and purring against others they like, before turning on the radio.

It clicks onto some comedy sitcom about a fae, werewolf, and dragon-shifter who live together, but haven’t realized that their other roommates aren’t human.

Noctis listens to it halfheartedly, laughing at all the appropriate lines and quips, as he flips the sign on his storefront door from OPEN to CLOSED. He and Prompto settle into the easy routine of packing up the store for the night and setting up for the next opening day.

“So, we’re working on the garden side tomorrow, right?” Prompto asks as Noctis rights a display sign.

Noctis nods. “Yeah . . . well, _you’re _gonna be manning it as I’m a bit backordered for some orders.”

“You can have fun with those, baby.”

Snorting, Noctis pokes Prompto’s side as he passes by, laughing at the subsequent squawk.

“Don’t bruise the familiar! There are _laws_ about that!”

“Yeah, yeah,” says Noctis. “I’ll be in the back!”

“Okay!”

He ducks through a door that leads to a partially opened hallway. It opens to the second half of Noctis’s shop, a garden store, where he mostly grows and sells both regular plants and the ingredients he uses for his potions, elixirs, and other such things. As opposed to Nightshade, the garden was christened Daylight’s Garden by Prompto during a brainstorming session a few years ago, and it hasn’t changed since.

Noctis, however, goes to the left side of the hallway that hosts his and Prompto’s ‘office’ and the breakroom. The right side holds the bathrooms. Unlocking the office, Noctis steps inside the slightly oval-shaped room and heads to the bookcase settled into the corner of the room. He hums some random tune under his breath as his fingers skim the various texts in front of him before he stops and chooses a nondescript text with a dark red covering, trimmed in black.

He grabs two more books—one with a sunflower yellow covering, and another that’s drenched in lilac—and sets the books down on the desk in the middle of the room. He goes to the other side of the room where a chipped and well-worn, cherry oak table sits. Covered in scrolls, opened books, half-used parchment, and nearly inkwells and feathery quills, it looks utterly chaotic, but Noctis knows where everything is, regardless, and takes little time in grabbing the scroll that he wants.

His hum turns into a whistle, light and airy, as he sets the scroll down and makes himself comfortable in the rolling desk chair. Opening one of his various spiral notebooks to a blank page, Noctis clicks his fine-tipped pen, opens the red text, and returns to his research.

As he delves into research, flipping through pages and cross-referencing as easily as he breathes, he’s vaguely aware of Prompto rummaging around through _Daylight’s Garden_, setting up the displays and everything for the morning. Daylight’s Garden and Nightshade open on alternative days—meaning, when Nightshade is open, Daylight is closed and vice versa. It was an easy system and made it so that Noctis and Prompto rarely got confused as to where they were supposed to be.

The evening sun lowers and greets the moon, and it’s dark enough that ignoring his hunger isn’t an option. Noctis puts his pen down with a sigh, coming out of his research daze, and puts everything back where it used to be before he locks the office and heads to the apartment above them.

Prompto’s already waiting with a bowl of green curry, one of Noctis’s favorite dishes despite the vegetables, and he smiles.

“Thanks, sweetie.”

“No problem!” Prompto laughs quietly, pressing a kiss to Noctis’s forehead that makes warmth curl his toes. “What kind of partner would I be if I didn’t feed my baby?”

Noctis snorts, rolling his eyes, and takes a seat at their little kitchen table. Prompto eases into the seat in front of him. Silence floats in their little home as they eagerly dig into their dinner. Noctis takes the time to observe the small, cluttered space he calls his own. It’s not much, really, but it’s _his_.

They live in a two bed, one bath apartment, but as Noctis shares everything with Prompto that was never really an issue. Their living room is more of a circle than a square and separates itself from the kitchen with three kitchen counters. Near the front door is a small foyer, if one could call it that, where their shoe rack and umbrella stand are. They don’t have a laundry room, sadly, but that’s nothing too serious as there’s a laundry mat three stores away from them.

None of their furniture matches—it’s a mix of blues, yellows, and greens, vibrant and soft, and old-ish furniture they either got on sale or at various yard sales and markets. Everywhere he looks, every corner and crevice, there is a sign of his existence, of Prompto’s.

Other people might have remarked at how cluttered the space was, what with their mismatching wall decorations and potted plants that were in corners, tables, shelves, and hung from the ceiling, not to mention the bills and order forms that nearly threatened to make their wobbly coffee table collapse, but it was the only place Noctis has considered to be his home. One of his favorite times of the day was walking through that door and into the warmth of his apartment. The other is waking up with Prompto, but, well, that’s a given.

“So.”

Noctis quirks an eyebrow. His mouth is full of food, but he somehow manages to encourage Prompto to continue.

“What do we think of Cor?” Prompto questions after he swallows his own mouthful of noodles. “Hang on—you’ve got something on your face.” Noctis makes a noise in the back of his throat, reaching for a napkin, but Prompto’s thumb is warm as he wipes away the bit of sauce on Noctis’s upper lip. “There we go!”

“Thanks,” Noctis says, cheeks heated despite this being a regular occurrence in their household, and adds, after his flusters cease, “So . . . what do you mean?”

“Like, are we suspicious?” Prompto waves his fork in the air as he talks, using the utensil as punctuation. “Do we think he’s a good guy? What vibes did you get from him?”

“He’s been through a lot,” Noctis says, almost immediately. If there’s one thing Noctis can recognize in a person, it’s how many storms they’ve survived. “Saw, and felt, a lot of grief, but determination and perseverance, too.” Prompto hums. “I think he’s alright—we just don’t know him that well, so we’re not used to him, you know?”

Prompto nods. “True, very true.”

“I think that . . . whoever he wants me to do this location enchantment on is very important to him,” Noctis adds after a moment of thought. And then, much quieter, says, “He asked if we could use their baby clothes for the spell.”

Prompto’s lips twist downward. “Oh. I see.”

Noctis twirls his fork around his noodles. “Whoever it is . . . they were young.”

Conversation stills as they finish their food. As they always do, Noctis washes the dishes used for that nights’ dinner and Prompto stations himself beside him, drying the wares. It’s a comfortable routine that Noctis revels in. Sometimes, he despises the hustle and bustle of Altissia, despite being the place he’s lived majority of his life, but he could always count on his little apartment to be a safe space for him to relax and calm down.

“That baking show is on,” Prompto comments as he puts away the last of their mugs. Noctis is well aware that they could use magic to clean their kitchen, but there was something in the structure of his routine that made him balk a little at even suggesting using magic for simple things he knew he could manage on a good day.

They settle in the living room, and Prompto flicks the channel to Food Network. Curled against Prompto’s side, he watches the back-to-back episodes about various chefs coming to beat a guy with a pun-like name—_flay_ something—but Noctis isn’t really paying attention. Prompto’s warm and solid beside him, so he finds himself drifting off slowly.

Prompto notices, because Prompto notices everything about Noctis, and chuckles lightly, curling his arm around him tighter. “Night, baby.”

Noctis barely remembers responding, a light noise in his throat, before he surrenders himself fully to the realm of dreams.

*

By the time he woke the next morning, Prompto’s already opened the garden shop. Noctis can hear the muted sounds of customers drifting through the bedroom window as he starts getting ready for the day. After a quick breakfast—Prompto made scrambled eggs and sausage—Noctis makes his way to the room where he brews most of his potions and the like.

It’s a small place, lathered in charms and spells to ventilate the room properly, keep any ruined potion from exploding, and have the room at a good temperature that’s neither too cold nor too hot. Most of the witches Noctis knows liked to brew in their basements, but the attic fit Noctis just fine. Besides, his building didn’t have a basement as Altissia was, technically, below sea level.

Grabbing the clipboard hanging on the wall next to where he has his protective gloves, apron and goggles, Noctis flips through it to see just what he knew he could finish before lunch. He starts on a few potions, hi-potions, and easy elixirs to restock Nightshade, and then once those batches were cooling and labeled, he begins working on some of his workorders.

Normally, Noctis didn’t take more than three workorders a week, as brewing takes a precise and specific amount of time, but as he had gotten sick two weeks ago, he was a little behind with his orders. His patrons understood, however, once he’d updated them on the situation, and they all wished him well.

Prompto usually helped, of course, but his familiar was more adept at charms, spells, and rituals rather than potion-brewing. It doesn’t bother Noctis, because his brewing time is very sacred and quiet for him. It’s how he relaxes and winds down from the hectic days at his store. Like how some people preferred to curl up with a book or binge-watch their favorite shows, Noctis liked to make (and experiment with) potions.

As he finishes the order for the elderly woman a few houses down, Noctis crosses her order off the clipboard.

Spying that he needs to restock some ingredients, he turns off the burner, takes off his potion-stained apron and other protective gear, and makes his way downstairs to Daylight’s Garden. The shop is practically flooded with customers, which is normal during the Moogle Festival, but Noctis still startles at the abrupt rise of noise that hits him once he steps through the hidden area that leads to his apartment.

Prompto’s handling himself well, though, and one of their employees is currently manning the cash register. He’s confident in their abilities, though he does note, in the back of his mind, to look for more employees, and makes quick work of getting the ingredients that he needs.

Once he’s back in his attic, he finishes the rest of his orders.

Noctis would head out and deliver them in person, but he’s feeling a little tired of people, and Altissia’s streets are quite overcrowded with tourists and locals due to the international popularity of the Moogle Festival—honestly, anything to do with Moogles and Chocobos, and everyone goes buckwild—so Noctis, after he packs them away in a bag for the morning, heads into Nightshade.

He’s feeling a little restless, still, so he starts cleaning the shop and turning it back to its’ pristine conditions. One’s workplace had to be near spotless when handling potions and potion ingredients, after all, and Noctis took much pride in Nightshade being one of the top apothecaries in the entire country.

He turns on the radio for some background noise—it’s on some pop station—and ties an apron around his waist. He pulls up his sleeves, ties his hair back in a low ponytail, and gets to work. He decides to start with the window displays.

He’s putting up a new display sign against the wall when the shop door opens. “Sorry,” Noctis calls, though he’s admittedly paying more attention to what he’s doing than to the stranger. “But Nightshade is closed today. We’re opening up tomorrow at eight in the morning, however.”

“Well, that’s quite an odd business model you’ve arranged, little dove,” the stranger comments, and a cold chill sweeps up Noctis’s spine. “Can’t imagine you’ve much revenue coming in, hmm?”

His fingers shake as he turns around. “I-I’m a-a-afraid that’s, that’s not any of your . . . business.”

The man—Ardyn Izunia, the _fucker_—smiles widely, showing his pointed teeth. He seems delighted at the sight of Noctis’s fear, at the way he trembles in place. “Now, now,” Ardyn drawls out, smile growing at Noctis’s shiver. “Is that any way to treat a paying customer, dove?”

“The shop is _closed_,” Noctis bites out, and while he’d love to snarl and hiss, he keeps his lips into a pointed, heavy frown. If he showed more anger, Ardyn might get ideas. That’s the last thing Noctis needs right now. “Please . . . please leave before I call the authorities.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, darling.” Ardyn steps closer into the shop, and Noctis flattens his back against the wall. It’s an instinctive response, unfortunately, and he hates the way Ardyn smirks a little at the reaction. The man picks up one of his potion bottles, twirling the bottle a little to see the light blue liquid swirl. “A low-level elixir, hmm? How . . . creative.”

“What do you want?” His voice is so low, so quiet, Noctis can’t believe he can even produce such a defeated sound.

Ardyn pouts. “What a dreadful reception to your teacher, little dove. I thought I raised you better than that.”

_You were a downright shitty parent_, Noctis thinks to himself but keeps quiet. He stares at his white floorboards he’d polished and swept only two hours ago. He’s never been able to look Ardyn in the eye, and he doesn’t think he’ll be able to now.

He exhales, shaky as it always is when he faces Ardyn, but straightens his posture. “Leave my shop. We are not open at this time.” _And you are never welcome here. _

Ardyn seems vividly aware of the unspoken words. He was always good at that. “Why, little dove—.”

Prompto appears, like the safe haven that he always is, flustered and frazzled but undeniably hostile, and snarls, “We’re closed if you couldn’t read the sign.”

“Ah, hello darl—.”

“_Don’t _call me that—.”

The sky rumbles in the distance. Noctis exhales softly and entwines his fingers with Prompto. To Ardyn, he lifts his gaze and locks eyes with the man. “You are not welcome here,” Noctis says, and his voice does not shake. It remains even. Calm. Ramuh’s presence is a warmth that curls around his neck, but it is not a noose. It will never be one.

_“Leave.”_

Noctis isn’t aware of what Ardyn sees, but he’s pale and leaves the shop. Noctis slumps against Prompto’s side the moment the man’s out of sight. The sky crackles once more, the sound of a whip, and Noctis breathes out, “That was terrifying.”

Prompto tucks his face in the crevice of Noctis’s neck and breathes. They do a lot of that, lately. They stay there for a few minutes, perhaps an hour, until Prompto murmurs, “Let’s go bake some cookies.”

Noctis snorts but doesn’t disagree. Prompto thinks everything can be solved via baked cookies. They both have unconventional coping means—Noctis likes to lock himself in the attic brewing potions, and Prompto likes to surround himself with baking materials that might outlast an apocalypse, but, well, it could be worse. Noctis could follow his parents’ route and become an alcoholic. Prompto could fall back into old habits of disordered eating.

Compared to how they used to cope, back when they were younger and barely held together by the smallest of threads, Noctis thinks they’re coping just fine.

“Yeah,” he says after a moment of quiet, and entwines his fingers with Prompto’s. The weight of his hand is familiar, and grounding, and Noctis, like he always does, can’t get enough of his touch. “Let’s go bake some cookies.”

“Can they be marshmallow-chocolate chip cookies?”

“Prompto.”

“Yes?”

“You’re allergic to chocolate.”

Prompto leans back to give Noctis a flat stare. “What’s your point?”

“You’re _allergic!”_

“I have an epi-pen!”

Noctis pinches the bridge of his nose. “No chocolate chip cookies.”

Prompto pouts, but Noctis won’t be moved. “Fine,” he says, huffing, but there’s no irritation from him, only amusement. “We can make sugar cookies instead.”

In the end, the kitchen looks like a baking tornedo crashed through it. Prompto has eggshells everywhere on his clothes, and Noctis can’t tell where the flour in his hair begins nor ends. And he should probably feel annoyed at the mess, at how long it’ll take for them to clean everything, but he’s honestly never felt so at home, at peace, than right now.

It’s the little things that count the most, to quote Ignis.

*

Tuesday dawns bright and early, and with it, Noctis goes to Altissia’s open market. It’s the only “farmer’s market” in Altissia, though there were far more spread throughout Accordo. Noctis wasn’t up for driving, so he leaves the shop in Prompto’s care, slips on a light jacket due to the slight chill in the air (which is surprising given Altissian summers were notoriously record-breakingly hot), grabs his phone and keys, and goes on his merry way.

There’s a bit of a crowd to slip through, but he’s used to Altissia’s narrow streets being nearly overwhelmed with all sorts of people. His country wasn’t dubbed a “hub of artistry and culture” for nothing, after all. Everything is always magnified, however, when it involves the Festival. A part of Noctis wishes it didn’t take place in Altissia, but he knows that it wouldn’t be the same if it wasn’t hosted in the capital.

He takes a gondola through the streets made from the sea, as the quickest way to reach the market was by water rather than concrete. If he walked, he would’ve had to go through the twisting streets and steps that still confused him even though he’s lived in Accordo for majority of his life. 

The slowly growing clamor of the farmer’s market greets him as he steps off the gondola. He tips the gondola driver—she’s also a regular at the garden shop, always buying bundles of pretty bouquets for her wife—and he makes his way through the familiar one-story staircase that leads to the market. The buzz and energy grow as he inches closer until the narrow street opens up to a large, opened area nearly overwhelmed by the number of stalls and people.

It’s almost ten, and there’s a near flood of people. Noctis, despite the anxiety caused by the crowd, can’t help but be pleased for his fellow local businesses.

While the market isn’t as well-renowned as the one parked in the center of Lestallum, it’s still a popular and energetic site to locals and tourists. Nothing says culture better than food, after all. And if there’s anything Accordon people love, it’s food.

He slips through the crowd with ease, taking a moment to grab one of the wicker baskets on the rackets interspersed throughout the area, and easily locates the stalls he frequents. Noctis doesn’t typically go inside a grocery store—if he does, it’s the one a few steps away from the laundromat, owned by his favorite vampire couple—as he prefers the more locally grown and sourced products, always willing to support local farms and businesses in the cutthroat world they lived in.

By the time Noctis is in need of a second basket, his stomach grumbles lightly in protest. He blinks, slightly dazed, and looks at the time on his watch.

It’s eleven.

Lunch time, in his world.

Due to their . . . unfortunate past, Prompto was adamant that they had somewhat consistent, balanced meals. Noctis didn’t mind, especially since he was now allowed to experiment with his own food and recipes, and, also, he loved making Prompto food, so it was a win-win situation for them both. Nonetheless, whenever he happened to be doing, well, anything worthwhile, he sometimes focused so deeply on that task that he ends up neglecting his most basic needs.

Sighing lightly, he drops his hand away from the greens and gives the stall owner an apologetic smile. “Sorry, but it looks like I gotta get some food or else.”

She laughs, good-natured and knowing. “Prompto’ll give you hell, huh?”

“Of course,” Noctis laughs as well. “But I’ll be back.”

“Lookin’ forward to it.”

Noctis weaves through the crowd until he reaches the area where the food trucks are gathered. A half oval, of sorts, of various trucks that are all in states of bold colors and lettering that sort of gives him a headache. His favorite food truck is a place of soft, muted golds, browns, and greens. _Little Galahd_. Noctis was nothing if not a glutton for Galahdian cuisine.

“Well, well, if it ain’t my favorite brat,” says Luche, the chef of the food truck, as Noctis approaches hearing distance. He rolls his eyes and makes a face at Luche, who echoes the action and says, “Thought you’d be busy at that store.”

“Eh, I needed to go shopping.”

Noctis makes quick work of scanning the menu. It rarely changed, except for the odd special here and there, and easily located his favorite meal. He orders two extra-spicy meat skewers and a water bottle, intimately knowing just how hot Galahdian cuisine could become, and chats idly with Libertus, the self-proclaimed marketer of _Little Galahd_, while he waits for his food.

“Two meat skewers,” says Luche as he hands Noctis the paper container.

Noctis moves to the little area beside the food trucks where tables and chairs are placed haphazardly. He sits down at an unoccupied table and works his way through half of his first skewer when he notices that he has a neighbor. Cor sits across from him with his own bowl of food, a deconstructed fish taco from a Lucian food truck.

“Oh!” Noctis smiles welcomingly at Cor despite his initial surprise at the other man’s presence. “Hello, Mr. Leonis. I didn’t see you there.”

“It’s alright,” Cor replies. “Please . . . call me Cor.”

“Then, call me Noctis.”

They both fall into comfortable silence. Although Prompto was not there as a buffer, Noctis didn’t feel awkward or uncomfortable in Cor’s proximity. He knew, almost instinctively, that the man wouldn’t hurt him or put him in harms way. He . . . isn’t really sure why he’s so insistent of that when, most of the time, he eyes anyone who attempts to come into his life with suspicion. It was a necessary habit, given what both he and Prompto had gone through when they were younger.

Once he’s polished his first skewer, he takes gratuitous swigs of water and then clears his throat. “So, how are you liking the market?”

“Well . . . it’s not as big as the ones I’m used to,” Cor begins as his gaze sweeps across the buzzing area. There’s a pulse in the air, a beating heartbeat of warmth and noise and the near overwhelming feeling of _home _that sinks deep in Noctis’s chest. “But it certainly is friendly.”

Noctis chuckles lightly. “Well . . . that’s Altissia, for you.”

They fall into another bought of quiet. Noctis eats his second skewer much slower than the first, savoring the taste and texture, as he observes both the farmer’s market and Cor. Though he makes it much more discreet that he’s staring at Cor, of course.

The man’s dressed in black clothing, despite the nearly skin-melting heat, but he neither looks uncomfortable nor dehydrated by his fashion choices. The material looks expensive and well taken care of, and by the easy way Cor brandished his card, Noctis can tell that he doesn’t bat much of an eye at expensive things.

“Cor?” The man in question blinks at Noctis. “May I ask you something?”

“Of course,” Cor responds.

Noctis tilts his head slightly. “If you don’t mind answering me, are you human?”

Cor blinks twice, and then chuckles. It’s a light, warm sound that makes Noctis relax slightly. “No, your h—Noctis.” —Noctis almost narrows his eyes at the stumble . . . was Cor about to say _your highness? _— “I’m a dragon-shifter.”

“Oh?” Noctis nearly beams. “I’ve a couple of friends who are dragon-shifters.”

Cor takes another bite out of his deconstructed taco and hums.

“So . . . do you live in Lucis or are you one of those shifters who travels a lot?”

“Both, actually.” Cor takes a moment to pluck a napkin from the tables’ napkin dispenser and wipe his hands. “I live in Insomnia and, for my occupation, I . . . travel to various cities worldwide.”

“That sounds exciting,” says Noctis, genuine and excited. Besides Altissia, he’s only really traveled to Niflheim—and in Niflheim, he wasn’t allowed to leave the territory that surrounded Gralea. “What place do you miss the most? Out of everywhere you’ve traveled to?”

Cor blinks slowly, pondering the question as he takes another bite out of his food, and answers after a moment. They delve into a lighthearted and easy discussion about the places Cor had visited, and the people he had seen and met. Something inside of Noctis almost clicks into place, as if he had been missing something he hadn’t known he’d lost in the first place, and it makes him inwardly narrow his eyes. He doesn’t show anything externally, though; keeping up a smiling façade as he lightly quizzes Cor over his past travels.

As Noctis chews on the last pepper on the meat skewer, Cor asks, “Have you . . . traveled anywhere, Noctis?”

“Ah. Just to Gralea,” Noctis responds in a dismissive tone. His smile becomes tightlipped and cold, a clear message to Cor that he does not want to delve into his time spent in Niflheim.

Cor respects the silent message. Plea, really. Last thing Noctis wants is to start crying in the middle of the farmers’ market.

“I have another question for you, however,” Cor starts and, once Noctis silently encourages him to go on, says, “I noticed that you . . . are uncomfortable with loud noises, so I was wondering if you’re alright. With the crowd, I mean.”

Noctis’s cold smile slips away for one that’s much, much warmer. “Oh, I’m alright.” With that, he raises his arm and shakes his wrist a little. The bracelet—black and silver with gold accents—twinkles underneath the sunlight. “See, this bracelet’s charmed to keep my anxiety at a manageable level when I’m in a crowded space like this. While it _does _have an expiration time, it lasts long enough for me to get through a crowd like . . . well, like this before I reach a point where I become too overwhelmed.”

Cor makes a light noise in the back of his throat. “That sounds inventive.”

“Yeah.” Noctis smiles again, this one soft and loving. “Prompto was the one who crafted it.”

Cor raises an eyebrow. “Prompto . . . your, ah, familiar?”

“Boyfriend, too.”

Cor blinks; possibly, unexpecting of that information.

“I plan on marrying him one day, you know,” Noctis states quietly, firmly. There’s no mistaking the love in his voice, in his expression, at the mere thought of proposing to Prompto, of _marrying_ Prompto. They would always orbit around one another, as witch-and-familiar, but it was something different, something much more intimate and warmer, to have Prompto as the man he would (hopefully) spend the rest of his days with.

Breaking away from his conversation with Luche, Libertus snorts and says, “Gods, I should hope so. I’ve money betting on a winter engagement, and I’ll be pissed if you make me lose to _Pelna_.”

Inside _Little Galahd_, there’s a yelped, “Oi!” from the man in question.

Noctis rolls his eyes and sticks his tongue out at Libertus. “Just for that,” he says, teasingly, “I’m going to propose during spring.”

“Hear that boys?” Luche all-but booms out. “Looks like y’all owe me some gil.”

“It ain’t spring yet, ass,” scowls Libertus, rolling his eyes, before he drifts away from the truck to persuade a potential group of customers—a pack of lost looking tourists in dire need of some good food. Noctis wishes them luck as he observes them falling under Libertus’s charms. 

Even from where he sits, Noctis can hear Pelna cursing a storm inside the truck at the thought of losing to Luche. He snickers.

“As I doubt I’ll be in Accordo when that time comes,” Cor says with a barely noticeable smile, and dips his head into a nod. “Congratulations, Noctis. And good luck.”

“Thank you, Cor.”

With that, Noctis crumbles up his trash and stands. There’s a trash can a few feet away, so it takes little effort in tossing his trash there. Cor follows his movements. Noctis then grabs hold of his basket, remembering that _yes_, he is in dire need of another if he wants to be able to carry his purchases back home. As he walks back into the ever-thrumming crowd, Cor keeps pace with him.

“Have any interesting plans for the day?”

“Business, as usual.”

Though curious at what business Cor might have in Altissia, Noctis says, “Well, I’ll see you at our appointment, then?”

“Of course.”

After Cor takes his leave from the market, Noctis spends another hour or two finishing his purchases. He goes back to the food truck area and orders takeaway from _Little Galahd_ for Prompto, and then sets off to his apartment. The gondola ride back seems much quicker than earlier, and Noctis eagerly approaches the familiar street in which his home and shop is situated on.

The store is quiet as he enters. Prompto’s near the far right of the room, dealing with a group of inquisitive children while who could only be their parents perused the store, so Noctis quietly slips upstairs and enters their apartment.

The bracelet, once a comfortable warmth on his wrist, has chilled due to the charm expiring. Noctis slips it off as he slips off his shoes and enters his kitchen. He hums a quiet, nonsensical tune he learned from his childhood days at the orphanage underneath his breath as he packs away the groceries. He bought enough, and then some, to last them a good two and a half weeks. Though, Noctis always goes to the market on Tuesdays’, so, ideally, they don’t run out of fresh ingredients and food.

Once everything’s packed away where it belongs, Noctis slips on the uniform for Nightshade—a simple pair of slacks and a dark blue collared shirt with the stores’ logo etched onto the breast pocket in pearl-white—and goes downstairs to help Prompto.

The business day drifts by quickly, and Noctis is nearly surprised at the time that’s passed when Prompto flips the sign from to CLOSED.

Prompto grins cheekily at Noctis. “That was some crowd.”

Noctis snorts. His ears are still ringing from the harried, and clearly stressed, tourist who wanted to use invalid coupons. They weren’t even for the same _apothecary_, for Ramuh’s sake.

They fall into the easy routine of store clean-up, and before Noctis knows it, he’s following Prompto upstairs. Normally, he would make his way into his office to do another nightly round of research (and, also, paperwork that Iggy would fax over), but Tuesdays were aptly called “Break Days” in their home, and thus Noctis ignores his pile of responsibilities in favor of cooking dinner with Prompto.

“And what is on the menu today, Chef Noctis?” Prompto questions in a playful, dramatic air as they step inside the kitchen.

Noctis lightly pushes him. “Go take off your uniform first, dork.”

“Oh?” Prompto waggles his eyebrows in a manner that nearly makes Noctis choke on his laughter. “So eager to get me out of my clothes, baby?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Noctis starts pushing Prompto in the direction of their room. “_Ugh. _You smell like dried newt.”

Prompto sputters in a poor imitation of hurt. Noctis feels nothing but amusement and delight from the blond. “How _rude_. After everything I’ve sacrificed, this is how I’m being treated? In my own home?”

“Obviously,” says Noctis, in a perfect deadpan voice, and then has to do an acrobatic move to escape Prompto’s reaching—tickling—hands. “No tickling—_no tickling!” _

Prompto cackles like an evil villain in those black-and-white cartoons he pretends he doesn’t like, and chases Noctis down the hall to their bedroom. Sadly, Noctis has never won any sort of running competitions—unless, of course, it’s one about the _slowest_ runner—and Prompto is the exact opposite in that case. It’s almost distressingly easy, how quickly Prompto winds his arms around Noctis’s waist and proceeds to set his sides aflame with his fingers.

“_Yield, yield—,” _Noctis attempts to say, sputtering and stammering around the raucous laughter that spills out of his mouth. Their neighbors in the next building—a girl who owns a cute little bakery that has donuts Noctis would literally die for—are probably getting concerned by Noctis’s shrieking laugh. “Okay, _okay_, ‘m sides hurt.”

Prompto eases up on the tickling, but soothingly rubs Noctis’s side. “Where’s my apology?”

Noctis huffs lightly, lungs weak at the almost unending bouts of laughter. “You’ve murdered me, isn’t that enough?”

Prompto sniffs. “Obviously.”

Noctis rolls his eyes fondly but twists around in Prompto’s grasp and kisses him. It’s a light peck, but of course deepens; dipping into something heavier as Prompto’s hands anchor themselves on Noctis’s waist, as he pulls Noctis closer on his lap. Noctis curls his arms around Prompto’s neck, humming lightly. He _does _end the kiss, though, before they go any further; because he’s getting hungry, but also because Prompto really does smell like dried up potion ingredients.

Noctis crinkles his nose, gently pushing Prompto’s face away from his. “Gods, you really do smell. Go take a bath. Or two.”

Prompto gives him a fond look and presses their cheeks together. Noctis, like he always does, despite his verbal annoyance at the odor, relaxes into Prompto’s embrace. “You really know how to make a man feel loved, huh?”

Noctis echoes Prompto’s early tone. “Obviously.”

“I’m going to tickle you again.”

“I’ll turn you into a _frog_, don’t you fucking dare.”

Once dinner had been consumed (a classic gnocchi alfredo with mushrooms), and the kitchen cleaned, Noctis relaxes on the couch with Prompto. He flips through the channels idly while Prompto works on a new scarf, this one white and gold with blue accents; it’s smaller in length and size, fit for a child, and Noctis quirks an eyebrow at that.

“Who’re you making that for?”

“Hmm?” Prompto blinks slowly at the question. “Dunno. Anyone, really.”

“It’s . . . small,” Noctis notes. Prompto normally makes scarves and other things adult size.

Prompto stares at the pooled yarn on his lap, and then shrugs. “Eh . . . just have a feeling.”

Noctis hums at that. Prompto’s ‘feelings’ weren’t to be ignored. After a few more minutes of channel surfing, he ends up staying on one of the baking channels, jotting down any recipes or ingredients that looked interesting, before he says, “So, I think we should some more employees.”

“That’s a good idea,” Prompto says idly. “How many are we thinking of? And just for Nightshade or for both stores?”

“I think both,” Noctis says after a moment of thought. One of the baking contestants wants to recreate a castle out of cake. “I don’t think we’ll need more than, like, five.”

“Sounds good,” Prompto murmurs and whistles a quiet spell beneath his breath. Wisps of lavender curl around the yarn, and Noctis watches, enraptured, as Prompto weaves protection spells and charms into the fabric. “When do you want to put up notices?”

“We can do it in a week or so,” Noctis says, though he takes a moment to put a remainder in his phone. “I’m in no rush.”

“Why?”

Noctis blinks at Prompto. “Hmm?”

“Why the sudden interest for new people?” Prompto asks as he sets the finished scarf and knitting materials on the coffee table; he stretches for a moment and then unceremoniously pulls Noctis into his lap, resting his chin on Noctis’s shoulder. “It once took you half a year to consider hiring the ones we already have.”

Noctis pouts slightly, causing Prompto to smile against his neck, but says, “I noticed that you were a bit swamped at Daylight, so I just thought that some extra hands could help whenever tourism peaks.”

“Aww.” Prompto decides to smother the side of Noctis’s face with kisses despite his protests. “Was my baby concerned for me?”

“I’m not anymore!” says Noctis, sputtering at the assault, squirming in Prompto’s grip. “_Ugh. _Let me go. This is unethical behavior towards your boss.”

Prompto snickers, and then murmurs, “I can think of a lot of other _unethical_ things I could do to you right now.”

“I’m going to smother you in your sleep,” Noctis deadpans, though his heated cheeks ruin his indignance, and then unleashes possibly the unholiest of shrieks he ever made. “Did you just _lick my face?”_

“Maybe.”

_“Prompto!”_

*

His appointment with Cor doesn’t take long. Noctis never expected it to. Most of his appointments normally took ten minutes, really. He sits the man down in his office at noon, offers sandwiches and refreshments, and then gets straight to business. After a subtle interrogation—not really _interrogation_, but Noctis did ask a couple more questions as to why he wanted to do such a spell—Noctis let Cor know his price.

“Honestly, the only material I’m missing is their baby clothes,” Noctis says at Cor’s raised eyebrow. “The materials haven’t cost me anything as I already have it in my stock, and the circle is already completed except for, well, the clothes.”

Cor blinks. “So . . . we could, potentially, do the spell today?”

“If you’d like,” says Noctis, shrugging as he leans back in his chair. He eats two of the sandwiches as he observes Cor consider the option to have the spell done now instead of later, and then smiles when Cor nods. “Do you have their clothes with you?”

“I do,” says Cor. “I had a feeling we might do the spell today.”

Noctis claps his hand and then stands. “Well . . . always trust your instincts, I like to say. Anyway, follow me.”

They end up in the hidden room inside Noctis’s office. Like in the movies, the room can only be accessed by shifting a specific book on his bookshelf. It’s a circular room where he and Prompto do their spell work and such things. Simple and mostly bare except for a metal table pushed to the far right of the room.

“So . . . how is this ritual going to work?” Cor questions as he watches Noctis set up the spell. “It looks . . . complicated.”

“It’s nothing too complex, don’t worry,” Noctis assures as fixes the candles, placed north and south of the circle drawn in fresh soil. “The set up takes a bit of time, as it’s more of a ritual than a spell, really, but the spell itself isn’t longer than a minute or so.”

Cor hums. He has a tight, white-knuckled grip on the folded baby clothes in his hands. They look silky and soft to Noctis’s eye, a simple button onesie. He hopes that whomever Cor is searching for will be found; will be _alive _and safe.

Noctis finishes the circle after a few more adjustments—the necklace charm was a little crooked—and motions for Cor to hand him the clothes. “These are going to go in the middle of the circle,” Noctis explains quietly, taking the clothes from Cor with a gentle care. “As I start the spell, you’re going to see a soft orange light, similar to the sunset, rise from the clothes and disappear inside the charm over there. Then, I’m going to enchant the charm to act as a guiding focus of sorts to the, ah, aura on the clothes.”

Cor blinks twice. “. . .Aura?”

“Everyone has an aura, whether alive or dead,” Noctis explains, politely ignoring the wince Cor makes when he says ‘dead’. “Instead of this persons’ aura being concentrated on their clothes, it’s transitioned to the charm. That way, when you’re searching, you won’t have to carry around baby clothes wherever you travel.”

“I . . . I see,” says Cor. It’s clear that he really, really doesn’t.

Noctis nearly smiles in amusement, but there’s a time and place for laughter, and right now, it isn’t it. Noctis stretches one last time and carefully kneels in front of the charm, taking care to ease his knee into the position he needs it to be in. Cor watches from the safety of the doorway, though Prompto had already strengthened the various protection charms and spells in the room before the day before, as Noctis starts the spell work.

As the ends of the spell dissipates, Noctis wipes the back of his forehead, smiles, and hands Cor the charm.

“That’s that, then,” he says, turning to face Cor. “That charm there will glow whenever the person you’re looking for is . . .,” Noctis trails off as he spots the charm and finishes, very softly, “. . . near. . ..”

The charm in Cor’s hand trembles. At Noctis.

Surrounding it is a warm halo of orange and pink, reminding him of a sunset. He casts the spell a second time, just in case he’s not seeing things wrong, that he hasn’t _cast it wrong_. Which is ridiculous, because he could cast this charm in his sleep. He’s the one who made it, after all. Noctis swallows at the sudden pressure in the room as he finishes. The temperature rises, just like before, and the glow intensifies. They are both aware of what this means. 

“What?” Noctis finds his voice breaking, trembling. He doesn’t know what to feel or to think. His lungs rattle in his chest, but he breathes regardless. He just kneels there, staring at Cor. “You’re . . . you’re looking for _me?”_

“Yes,” Cor says, frank and to-the-point, but gentler than Noctis has ever heard him. “Noctis Lucis Caelum. The hatchling to Regis and Aulea Lucis Caelum . . . the current King and Queen of the dragon kingdom. You were kidnapped when you were younger . . . until I found you here, we never stopped searching for you.”

Noctis has spent his entire life believing what his orphanage matron said to him—that his parents were drunks, and he had been found stashed away in a merchants’ boat to Altissia, that all he had on him was a bracelet of his name he now keeps in a locked box on his dresser and the soft, blue blanket he had been wrapped in—and it had never, in all of his nineteen years, occurred to him that something more nefarious had been at play.

_Well_, Noctis thinks around the ball in his throat. _That explains the grief, then. _

The backs of his eyes burn with the need to cry, but, like he always does, Noctis smothers the urge. At whatever expression Cor happens to see on Noctis, it makes him soften.

“Cor . . .,” Noctis says after a moment. “Who . . . who are you?”

The man kneels after a respectful bow at Noctis. “I am Cor Leonis, the Marshal of the Crownsguard . . .”

Noctis tries to swallow. His dry throat makes it far too difficult. “I . . . I see.”

For a moment, they stay there; kneeling, Cor, staring at Noctis as if he had never seen him before, and Noctis, trying to behave as though his entire world has not crumbled to his ears.

“Your Highness?”

“What will happen now?” Noctis questions, and Cor tilts his head. “I . . . will you tell the, uh, king and queen that I’m alive?”

Cor dips his head into a nod. “I will, your Highness.”

“. . . they will want me to go back to Lucis, won’t they?” Noctis says. He isn’t really asking a question, merely stating a fact.

“You are correct.”

“I’m . . . I’m sorry,” Noctis says, and Cor looks at him like he understands, like he already knows what Noctis is going to say. “But . . . But Insomnia, that isn’t my home. Altissia . . . _here_, in my shop. This is my home . . . I can’t just . . ..”

“I understand, your Highness,” Cor responds after a moment. His expression remains unreadable to Noctis, but he can see hints of grief and regret simmering at a low heat. “It would be selfish of me to make you uproot your entire life for people you’ve never truly known.”

Noctis sighs heavily; his shoulders droop. “Don’t . . .,” he starts, and then ends, quieter, “just call me Noctis, Cor.”

He’s a Prince. The Human Prince of the Dragon Kingdom.

Astrals, he needs to knock back a shot of Altissia’s strongest whiskey. Maybe he’ll make a stop at Maagho during his lunch break.

Cor leaves the next evening; his time in Accordo coming to an end. Noctis and Prompto see him off. Noctis, almost last minute, presses a box of items into the man’s hands. “Open it once you’ve docked,” he says, lips half-quirked in a smile. “It’s a gift, and . . . you’ll always be welcome in our place, Cor. Don’t—don’t doubt that.”

“Thank you, your—Noctis,” Cor says, quietly, like he always does. After a moment of quiet, he asks, “The next time I travel here . . . would it be alright if I brought other visitors?”

For a moment, Noctis doesn’t know what to say. He stares at Cor, mouth dry, a ball in his throat, but Prompto’s hand is a comforting weight in his. So, he breathes, smiles, and says, “I would love that.”

“Have a safe journey,” Prompto chirps, smile as bright as the sun itself. “Don’t get _too _seasick.”

Cor rolls his eyes.

The ferry’s horn blows, and other people who dwindled by the docks for their goodbyes start loading onto the ship. Cor nods at them and then, without much to say, boards the ferry to Galdin Quay. Within minutes, the little ship lurches off in the direction to Lucis—to the city where many a legend say magic had been born.

Noctis and Prompto stay at the docks. Noctis watches the ferry until it disappears and even then, he still stares after it as though he can still see its’ fading outline. When it starts to rain, he doesn’t move. Prompto stays by his side, like he always does, and somehow hoists an umbrella over them as the rain turns stormy.

“Noct?”

Noctis blinks weary eyes at Prompto, whose smile is gentle and soft. “Let’s go home, baby,” Prompto says quietly, but Noctis hears him perfectly over the downpour.

He’ll always hear Prompto.

Noctis stares out into the opened expanse of sea before he nods. “Yeah . . . let’s go home.”

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly? Idk what this is LOL. 
> 
> Sorry for any spelling errors! I didn't really edit this. It's just been sitting in my drafts and I'm impulsively posting this because I realized I kind of, you know, dropped off the face of the earth for a month. 
> 
> Drop a comment/kudos and let me know what you think!


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